Another Day
by Dawlish
Summary: Snape gets a new job description after the Second War, and starts to work with the Ministry. He doesn't come along with anyone... Or does he eventually?


**Another Day******

**1. Prologue**

Snape heaved a long, tired sigh and slumped in his chair, defeated. He brought his bony hands up to his hair, and pulled the long, greasy black locks in his frustrated anger. He glared at the large, dark green numbers of his table calendar: May 27th, Tuesday, 1998. Only three days more, and he would get rid of Potter, hopefully for forever. But, contrary to usual, this lightening thought did very little to his sour countenance this time. 

He slid downwards in his chair, until he was just a lazy-looking lump of black laundry behind his desk. He massaged the ridge of his crooked nose, and made a mental note to replenish his Anti-Headache potion supply. He would seriously need that slimy gunk in the near future, if what he had just learned from Dumbledore indeed was true: The freshly elected Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, had curtly appointed him, Severus Snape, to be the head of the new and reformed Department of Magical Defense.

Snape groaned. Why, oh why, did this happen to him? True enough, it was a great honour and all that kind of things, but to be quite honest, why would anyone want a very grumpy and moody former Death Eater to lead the Ministry's Defense Department? Besides, the Potions Master just was not yet ready to undergo such a drastic change in his life. Not so shortly after the Second War, during which he had learned to appreciate his bleak and bedraggled dungeon office more than ever. 

But, what could he do? Arthur Weasley, Snape grimly realised, was too good-natured for his job, and probably thought he was doing the greasy git a favour of some kind, as a reward for his valour in the War. Dumbledore had been most pleased with the way of events, and had already found a new Potions professor, as well as a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, for the school. 

Three days. Three shorter than short days, and Snape would have to leave the safety of his precious dungeons. 

There was a knock on the door, and Draco Malfoy peeked inside. "Professor Snape, sir?"

Snape straightened himself and cast his most vicious death glare at the blonde boy. "What?"

"The Headmaster wants you. Apparently a group of Aurors are here to discuss with you, about your new job."

"Capital," Snape mumbled, and sneered. 

The young Malfoy heir, now in charge of the entire Malfoy fortune, decided it was best for him to take leave –and fast. 

**

Snape did not pretend. He detested artificiality and would not render such worthless activity himself. Therefore, he did not bother to fix his prominent scowl when walking towards the Headmaster's office. Night-black robes billowing around his notable form, he threw the door open, creating a dramatic side-effect to gloss his entrance. Then he elegantly took his pose in the middle of the room, looking superior and utterly discontented. 

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster," he drawled, eyeing suspiciously the three other occupants of the room.

"Yes, I did, Severus," Dumbledore smiled. "I'm sure you remember Mr. Shacklebolt, Mr. Scrimgeour and Miss Tonks."

Snape curtly nodded at their direction, wishing them all sorrow and woe in his mind.

"We are here to discuss about your new-fangled job description, Snape," Shacklebolt went straight to the point, ignoring the haughty expression of the Professor. Maybe he was used to it, seeing as they had been partnered in the past battlefields. "There are quite many things that have changed since… Well, since the time Mr. Fudge was still leading the Ministry." 

The Potions Master glared at the bald, black Auror. "Shacklebolt, you are stating the plain obvious. Now, unless you have something of real importance to tell me, I shall be off."

"If we would all just sit down," Scrimgeour gestured at the vacant seats. "Then, maybe Mr. Shacklebolt will tell you more about your new responsibilities and Miss Tonks about your salary and other benefits." 

Snape cast a piercing stare at the young Auror woman, standing by Fawkes' roost, fidgeting her sleeves nervously. Snape remembered her, of course; it was not everyday you met a Metamorphmagus, after all. Today, she had decided to wear dark plume robes, a brisk pointy nose and black, thorny and slightly chaotic hair. Snape suppressed a snort; the girl just did not know anything about being soft and feminine, in his opinion. 

They all sat down, and Snape found himself listening to a very detailed description of his job. He narrowed his eyes many times during Shacklebolt's speech, but remained silent. Perhaps, if he tried it really hard, he could cultivate a batch of interest somewhere deep inside his brain. The job did not sound at all that bad, if you really gave it a profound thought. What Snape had gathered this far, he would be the leading authority, the organizer, the tactician, and the advisor –the very highest head of the Aurors.

"Alright," Snape finally intoned, when Shacklebolt did not seem to have anything more to add. "There is nothing I cannot handle, this far."

"Good," Scrimgeour looked satisfied. "Tonks?"

The young woman, Snape noticed, gave a visible start when being spoken to. 

"Oh, what, um, yes," she stammered, and vividly began to scan through some parchments she had spread in her lap. "Let's see… Yeah. Here. Arthur, I mean, Minister Weasley gave me these papers just this morning and I haven't had the time to read them all through so well but, ah, here's the new wages system of the Ministry."

Snape raised a brow at her. "Wages system, Miss Tonks?"

"Muggle influence," Scrimgeour provided. "Don't even try to understand."

"Anyway, according to this, your wage class seems to be number sixteen, the second highest," Tonks examined the parchment keenly. "A thousand and two hundred galleons a month. Plus the bonuses, of course."

Snape could not help it: he gaped. His job as the insufferable Potions professor and a part-time spy had brought him only hundred and sixty-six galleons a month, if not counted the additional pleasure of doing what he had always liked to do for a living. Surely he could detach himself from his treasured potions, if he really tried? Tonks gave the man a shy smile, picked up one of the other documents in her possession, and started to talk about the extra benefits of the job. 

Snape was fascinated, even though he would never admit that to himself. Namely, in addition to the shamefully excessive pay-cheques he would be getting, he would also be the owner of a new, lofty apartment in Trafalgar Square, in the heart of London. It was already being prepared for him. He would be getting three personal house-elves to assist him in his daily routines, and a well-equipped mini-bar would be placed in his study. But, what was the most important thing of all: he would now get legally recognized rights to act like a peevish pit fiend twenty-four-seven, and would need no excuses for his ill behaviour.

"Well," the Potions Master finally found his voice, which luckily still had some of its usual arrogant tone. "I guess it is all settled, then. I shall arrive on Friday afternoon."

"Great," Shacklebolt grinned, and Scrimgeour looked smug.

"You have no questions or complaints, sir?" Tonks ventured a timid glance at him. "Any extra demands?"

"We shall see on Friday," Snape snorted conceitedly and stood up. The others followed his example, of course without the snorting part. 

"Thank you for coming, misters Shacklebolt and Scrimgeour, and Miss Tonks, of course." Dumbledore clapped his hands together, like he always used to do when ending a meeting. "Now that I know all this, I am sure to part from my valued potions expert with an eased mind."

Snape did not waste his time in pathetic goodbyes; he was already out of the room.

…to be continued…


End file.
